


Kingdom Come

by PlaneJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode: S05e05 The Disir, Felching, M/M, Multi, Rimming, Season/Series 05, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Mordred both need Arthur's attention.  Arthur gives it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom Come

Spirits were high, lifting the ceiling of the Great Hall with wine-fuelled merriment and revelrous laughter. Mordred had lived.

Merlin’s spirit plummeted, weighted by misery and despair. If ever he had resented the burden of his destiny, furious and bitterly, it was now, alone in Arthur’s chambers. He would turn down the bed, warm the linen with a whisper and stoke the fire with a wave of his hand. But what for? So that his lord could have Mordred in his bed as well as in his heart?

With a wet inhale, a shake of his head and a strained smile to the empty chair at Arthur’s desk, Merlin turned to leave. There were no more tears to be shed. The darkness that had settled in Merlin’s chest like a parasite had swallowed them up and it would take his mind as well if he didn’t get out now. He couldn’t be here to see the inevitable. The pain of it would be too much to bear.

“Merlin?”

It was Arthur, come back early from the feast. Mordred followed a step behind. 

“Sire. Your chambers are readied. Is there anything else?”

The heat from the fire was suffocating. Merlin felt the air thin. He chased it for a breath he couldn’t take and it was with an agonised gasp he felt the darkness take him.

***

Arthur caught Merlin before he hit the ground. He lifted him in his arms and laid him on the bed.

Sat beside him, Arthur looked at Merlin’s skin, paler than winter, and was gripped with terror. 

“Should I fetch Gaius?” Mordred asked, his voice ragged with fear.

“Yes. Go. Run!”

Arthur didn’t know the reach of the Disir’s power or that of their old gods. Where they had spared Mordred would they have Merlin in his place? Had they watched them at the campfire? Had they heard the words that Merlin spoke, urging Arthur to turn his back on magic? Would it be Arthur’s penance to lose the one he loved the most? 

Arthur took Merlin’s hand in his and closed his eyes. He silently prayed, “Not him. Please, not him.”

The silence rolled over Arthur like a preternatural fog, its chilling billows sneaking over his collar and under his cuffs, shivering down his spine. He couldn’t hear Merlin breathing. He couldn’t hear his own heart beating. For a moment he thought it had stopped—until Merlin’s fingers moved. 

Arthur’s eyes flew open as Merlin’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks. Merlin blinked in a daze, at Arthur, while fat tears rolled down his temples. He turned his head away and lifted his arm to cover his face.

Pulling Merlin to his chest against a weak and fleeting protest, Arthur soothed him. “No, no. You’re all right. I’m here.”

Arthur sent a guard to halt Mordred and Gaius, to send them back. He returned to where Merlin lay stricken. “Don’t torture yourself. All is well.”

Merlin couldn’t speak. He let Arthur strip him down to his linens without a word, all traces gone of his boyish insouciance. It felt like a lifetime ago that Arthur had last seen it. He held him close for a long time and let his silent sorrow ebb. It was with grief of his own that Arthur kissed Merlin’s hair, saying over and over, “I had no right to ask you what you would do in my place. I’m sorry.” 

Over their years together Merlin had grown wise, but he wore his heart on the outside, for all to see. Arthur had seen the anguish and pain warring on his face as he condemned Mordred that night by the campfire. But it was Arthur’s duty and his alone to shoulder that load. Not Merlin’s, not his precious Merlin’s.

The night passed slowly, like a funeral procession, dragging out the mournful sounds of broken hearts. Merlin slept a fitful night and Arthur didn’t sleep at all. The wine had soured in his belly.

***

When Mordred reached the knights’ quarters on leaden legs, his chest fit to burst from burning, he was thankful for its desolation. This was to have been his night. He had endured the rest—the mocking, the jests and the initiations—and tonight was the final rite of passage. The knights all spoke of it with hushed voices, behind his back but loud enough to hear. Arthur would have him; he would have Arthur, for one night of his own. The whispers were spoken with reverence. The glint in his compatriot’s eyes flared with the recollection; the pleasure of Arthur’s attentions were not easily forgotten.

Mordred berated himself for his lack of compassion. Merlin was ill, sick with something though he knew not what. It felt like wretchedness, sadness, pain. Mordred could see it—Merlin’s disquiet weeping from his pores like tears. 

What had happened with the Disir, when Mordred lay mortally wounded, when Arthur and Merlin had returned to beg for his life? Arthur had not spoken of it, not to any of the knights, what the price had been. But Arthur and Merlin shared secrets as well as on occasion Arthur’s bed. Mordred knew that much. Their bond was more than that of brothers. 

Mordred would have to wait.

He climbed into his narrow bed and closed his eyes with an entreaty for the pull of slumber to claim him before the return of the knights from the Great Hall.

***

Arthur paced the floor, clutching the dagger in his hand tightly enough his fingernails dug into his palm.

There had to be a way. There was always a way. Merlin had taught him that though he’d never tell him so. He probably should—it might do something to shift his melancholy. Then what to do about Mordred? Arthur could see the hurt in his eyes, the questions he would never dare to ask. 

Arthur paused at the table, fixing his gaze upon the untouched platter Guinevere had left him that morning. If it weren’t for her enduring patience he didn’t know what would become of him. Arthur ran the blade through an unsuspecting chicken leg. He smiled. He used to call Merlin that—chicken legs. For a while, in the beginning. 

No longer able to ignore his hunger, Arthur sat and began to eat. The food passed his lips without his notice, his mind deflected from the sustenance by his concern for those he held dearest.

“What are you doing?” 

Merlin stood in the doorway, glaring at Arthur with what almost passed for a grin. 

“Eating?”

“Chicken dipped in porridge. Very nice.”

Arthur dropped the offending morsel and swallowed what was already in his mouth. “I like to mix things up.”

Merlin snorted. “That’s your idea of mixing it up these days? You’re getting old, sire.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. He let out an undignified squawk of protest—but promptly closed his mouth again as the sweet taste of relief appeased him. He nodded sagely. “You’re right. I am.”

Merlin came over and perched on the edge of the table, helping himself to a grape. “There was a time when you meant something else entirely by mixing it up.”

There was a spark in Merlin’s eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen in an age. 

He knew at once what needed to be done.

***

As planned, Merlin arrived first. Arthur opened his arms. There was no preamble—their bodies aligned, close and comfortable.

Arthur waited, lavishing Merlin’s face with lingering kisses, before at last he confessed, “I’ve invited Mordred, too.” 

Merlin stiffened in his embrace. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t come if I did. You need this. You both do. Please trust me.”

Arthur felt the full measure of Merlin’s weight as he slowly calmed once more, his head coming to rest upon Arthur’s shoulder. To hold him up was nothing, no burden. It had never been. Arthur had always welcomed being in the swathe of Merlin’s long limbs. There was a softness to him that belied his leanness, and more oftentimes these days, his sharp edges.

“He’s no innocent, you know,” Merlin said into Arthur’s neck. 

Arthur wasn’t surprised, whether or not that had been Merlin’s intent. “I think there are still a few things he could learn from you.”

Mordred appeared, cautiously hovering at the door. “I’m sorry.”

“No, come in. We’ve been waiting for you.” 

There was a flash of surprise, about his eyes—there then gone—but Mordred covered it well. He slid the bolt behind him.

In the flicker of firelight, wearing nothing but the wine on their lips, Arthur took his friends to his bed. He lay supine in the middle, propped up with pillows, nevermore like the king he was. He brought Mordred’s mouth to his while Merlin pressed his tongue into Mordred in the dark place between his legs, his sucks and kisses loud and lewd enough to speed Arthur’s growing hardness. Mordred whimpered. Arthur held his face in his hands, capturing the aching wonder in Mordred’s eyes as Merlin opened him with practised care.

“Do you like that?” Arthur asked him, knowing the answer but wanting to see Mordred, hear his answer.

There was quiet desperation in his pale blue eyes as he answered Arthur, “Yes,” then with fast, panting gasps turned to look back at Merlin. From experience, Arthur knew how it was to be undone by Merlin’s attentions. It was the most intimate of things. It required trust and a willingness to be vulnerable. Merlin was the only one Arthur would let touch him this way. That Mordred had succumbed so readily spoke again of his trust in Arthur, perhaps more so than his trust in Merlin.

Merlin paused and lifted his face, his chin wet and the flush high on his cheeks. Arthur beckoned him, drew him to his side and took Merlin’s hardness in his fist. “Will you fuck him?” he asked between soft kisses, “After he’s fucked me?”

Merlin's reply was, “Open your legs.” Using the oil, he slid his fingers under Arthur’s balls and circled his entrance.

Arthur looked at Mordred. “Ready?”

The look of puzzlement on Mordred’s face endeared Arthur so much he couldn’t help but laugh and kiss him. No matter that Merlin was pressing in deep as well as biting kisses into Arthur’s shoulder over every quick and bright spark of pleasure pulsing from inside.

Mordred was hoarse. “You want me?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Merlin sniggered. Arthur pinched him hard enough, on his backside. 

It was Mordred’s youth, the uncertainty that he wouldn’t outlast his lord that slowed his answer. Arthur remembered how it was. He urged him between his thighs and let Mordred take his time. Mordred’s cock was stiff and ready, his arms and shoulders that had wielded the sword with strength and precision were tensed as bow strings as he held himself steadfast, unfaltering. Mordred pressed in cautiously, looking at Arthur and Merlin looking up at him in turn. 

When Mordred was finally buried to the hilt, he stilled. Arthur gave Merlin a nudge.

Pushing up from Arthur’s embrace, Merlin took a pillow from the edge of the bed, wetly, sloppily kissing the tip of Arthur’s cock as he moved past him. “Let me get that under his hips,” he said to Mordred. Merlin wedged it beneath Arthur, at the same time putting his hand to the small of Mordred’s back and softly kissing his temple, not taking his eyes from Arthur. Arthur heard him whisper, “Put your hands on the back of his thighs and push him up. He likes it like that.”

Mordred nodded then moved. 

“That’s it. Harder now,” Merlin urged him. “You can go in as hard as you like. He’s a big, strong boy.” He grinned at Arthur, knowing full well he was taking a liberty he would answer to later. It was a momentary exchange snuck in while Arthur was disarmed. But the wily little tyke hadn’t forgotten Mordred.

He stayed with him, kneeling at his side watching Mordred thrusting into Arthur intently, as thrilled by the sight of it as Arthur was to see them both before him. Merlin’s cock was hard. He stroked it lazily, loosely as Mordred pummelled in powerfully and fast. Arthur reached up and pressed his hand to Mordred’s chest, feeling his heart racing beneath his palm. “That’s it, like that. Just like that.” 

Mordred was flushed and ruddy from the exertion, driving into Arthur like his life depended on it. Arthur’s mouth fell open as he gasped aloud with each fervent brush of Mordred’s cock over his sweet spot. He didn’t close his eyes. Watching Mordred fuck him was a sight to behold. The boy was beautiful and intense, just as he was on the field, giving every last ounce of everything he had to please his king. 

But Mordred didn’t last. Arthur felt the swell inside before Mordred arched and cried out. It sent a jolt through Arthur that would have sent him over, once upon a time. 

When Mordred stilled, the creases in his forehead smoothing as he came down from his climax, he slumped forward unresisting into the cradle of Arthur’s arms. “I was too fast,” he muttered bleakly into Arthur’s chest.

“You were not,” Arthur told him fondly, lightly stroking his fingertips over his back. “We aren’t nearly finished yet. Are you ready for Merlin?”

Mordred nodded as Merlin lifted his hips and moved Mordred’s legs astride Arthur’s waist. 

It was a pleasure in itself, for Arthur to card his fingers through Mordred’s damp curls while Merlin fucked him languorously and deep. Merlin curved his hips on the upstroke, dragging his cock out teasingly slow as he withdrew, looking down at Arthur with longing, sultry eyes. He’d got strong, thicker across the shoulders in recent years. Arthur could still fold Merlin like a rag doll if he chose and fuck him deep and hard with his ankles over his shoulders. But there was a resistance in his body now that there hadn’t been at the beginning. It was a good thing. Merlin seemed to need the fierceness of unfettered passion more and more as the years had passed, as much as the slow and tender lovemaking of two people who knew each other inside and out.

Mordred clung to Arthur, biting curses into his knuckles as Merlin began to speed. But as Merlin’s rhythm faltered, Arthur got the feeling Mordred was pushing back.

Arthur wasn’t mistaken. Merlin felt it and responded at once. Through clenched teeth he growled out, “Yes. Fuck yes,” and came with a long, loud groan, his fingers digging into Mordred’s buttocks as his hips jerked out his spill.

Mordred was trembling in Arthur’s arms. But Merlin wasn’t finished with him. He crawled down the bed and looked at Arthur, smug as an alley cat about to lick the cream from the king’s table. 

“Go on. Do it,” Arthur said, on top of a chuckle. “Hang in there, Mordred. Merlin has a surprise for you.”

After a kiss and caress to the small of Mordred’s back, Merlin sucked his seed from his hole. He’d done it to Arthur, more than once. He’d had him begging to stop as the strength of the pleasure bordered on pain. He’d dragged another climax from his cock when Arthur had whimpered and cried he couldn’t take anymore, he was finished. If Merlin got an affectionate slap now and again, it was nothing compared to the sharp lingering thrill of his attention when he came into his own between the sheets. 

Merlin was making filthy, delicious noises, like he was a starving man luxuriating in the decadence of a rare feast. Arthur was flushed with burgeoning desire. Mordred was sobbing. “It’s too much. Too much.” 

Arthur could feel Mordred’s cock swollen again on his belly. “Shhh. I’m going to help you.” He slid his fist between them and found Mordred’s erection. It was still slick with oil. Arthur gripped him firmly, around the head, and with rapid flicks of his wrist he pulled the second climax from Mordred with Merlin’s tongue still buried in his hole.

Mordred shuddered through it, exhausted as he was and utterly spent. He was pliant and boneless as Arthur and Merlin gently laid him on his back. With a final push, he rolled toward Arthur onto his side and rested his hand on Arthur’s arm, gently caressing his skin. He was smiling the sleepy smile of the sated, sweet and open, pushing up the corners of his mouth. 

It was just Merlin and Arthur now. Merlin didn’t wait. He knew what Arthur wanted without having to ask. This was how they liked it, how they’d duelled so many times before, through hurt and anger and laughter. For every time Merlin had straddled Arthur, his back to his chest, or got on his hands and knees, there were a dozen more where he had slid down Arthur’s cock with his palms on Arthur’s chest, his lips brushing and pressing against Arthur’s while he moved. 

They kissed between breaths with the ease of long-time lovers. Merlin rode Arthur, slow-rolling his hips up and down, watching for the small expressions, listening for the hitch in Arthur’s breathing that would tell him to speed or slow, to ease up or bear down harder.

Merlin was hard again. His cock bobbed and slapped down on Arthur’s belly as he moved. Arthur met the motion in counter time against the heat and tightness of Merlin clenching around his rigid cock. The pleasure was vivid and unrelenting, a forward motion so powerful and strong that it would not be stopped. 

Though Merlin probably knew it, Arthur murmured, “I’m close.”

“Wait for me.” There was so much love in Merlin’s eyes it made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. 

“Always.”

Merlin took his cock in his fist and with a few short pulls reached the end, his seed thick and oozing from his cockhead over his fist and onto Arthur’s stomach. Arthur followed on the blissful high of the last clench of Merlin’s hole around him. 

Mordred and Merlin slept soon after. Mordred was in the middle, spooned close to Arthur’s chest, his fist curled under Merlin’s chin. They had kissed quiet and tenderly before they settled. Arthur watched over them for a time, until his eyelids were too heavy. 

Later in the night, when the candle had sputtered the last of its flame and all that remained were glowing embers in the hearth, Arthur was awoken. Mordred was fidgeting. Arthur had mistakenly thought that virtue was solely Merlin’s.

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to piss. But Merlin’s leg is over me.”

“Push him off. You won’t disturb him—he sleeps like a stone.”

While Mordred was gone, Arthur stroked Merlin’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Merlin murmured in his sleep and crinkled his nose. Asleep, his face slack and completely relaxed, Merlin could pass for the boy he’d been not so very long and forever ago. How they’d changed. How they hadn’t. 

“I love you,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin didn’t open his eyes but mumbled, “Love you, too.”

Mordred padded back to the bed, almost shyly, slipping between the sheets behind Arthur. He was shivering, clinging to the edge of the bed. 

Turning his body and grabbing Mordred under the shoulder, Arthur pulled Mordred back over him, into the space he’d been in before. Mordred wriggled until he was comfortable, with his head resting on Arthur in the hollow between his chest and shoulder. He pulled Arthur’s arm around him and finally quieted.

Having instantly fallen back into a deep-breathing sleep, Merlin curled in towards them and flung his arm over Mordred’s hip.

With a put upon sigh but the sincerest affection, Arthur whispered, “Another cuddler. You and Merlin are more alike than you realise.”

Mordred tilted his head up. “Don’t tell him you said that.” As he laid his head back down Arthur felt Mordred’s smile on his skin.

Squeezing Mordred’s shoulders and looking at the silhouette of Merlin’s face, Arthur softly replied, “I think he already knows.”


End file.
